Moonlight's Ambassador (Aileen Travers Book 3)(98)

Eric stepped past me, startling me. I hadn't known he was back here. He paused before turning. "The owner of the Book Haven's shadow side said he's looking for an assistant. Your friend is qualified and there are no humans to worry about in the night store."

I stared after him with an open mouth as he followed Liam on silent feet. The suggestion was a good one, and I kicked myself for not thinking of it before. The hint the book gave me a few nights ago made more sense now. It had been trying to tell me the solution to Caroline’s problem all along. I just hadn’t been listening. Even more shocking was that it had come from him, a man I could have sworn would prefer to drop me into a deep dark hole. It almost made me like the other vampire.

I'd talk to the shopkeeper before presenting it to Brax, but I was sure I could work out a deal for Caroline. With a solution in mind for her problems, I headed home. My real home. My room at the Gargoyle was luxurious with a shower and bed that would tempt a nun, but it wasn’t home. After the week I’d had, I wanted to be surrounded by my own things in the home I’d created for myself.

*

"Where are my stairs?" I shouted at the foreman who’d been less than helpful since I arrived home.

The man was middle-aged and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here right now. Possibly because I had intercepted him and the others as they were leaving for the night. It might also have been because I'd been shouting for the past five minutes, beside myself since I couldn't get up to my apartment without that staircase.

"I told you, lady, the former stairs violated building code. The landlord wanted it torn down and a new one built in its place." He chewed a piece of gum, looking like a cow with a piece of cud.

I took a deep breath through my nose. How would it look to Caroline if hours after I chastised her for her lack of control, I murdered an obnoxious construction worker? Don't kill the human, Aileen. You need him to construct the staircase since the old one was currently in pieces on the ground.

"How long is that going to take?" I snapped, tired and wanting to be home, curled in bed with a good book.

He shrugged. "A few weeks."

"Weeks?" My voice reached registers not meant for human ears. The foreman winced, and his crew looked over at us with an assortment of expressions ranging from humorous to scathing. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

All of my clothes were up there. My computer. Everything. I needed to start looking for a new job. How was I supposed to do that when I couldn't access my apartment?

He shrugged. "Not my problem."

My jaw dropped open, and I took a threatening step towards him. "How 'bout I make it your problem?"

He rolled his eyes, obviously not finding me very threatening. "Look, lady, all of the residents were informed of this via letter. You got a complaint, take it up with your landlord."

I hadn't seen a letter. Furthermore, that still did not solve my problem.

The foreman turned his back, not waiting for me to say another word and stalked off, muttering about hysterical women. It took more self-control than I was proud of not to follow him and show him just how hysterical I could be. Instead, I turned and headed to the mailboxes for the building, determined to find the landlord's number and give him a piece of my mind. I'd missed a few days of mail with everything that was going on. It showed too, with the mailbox crammed full of paper.

Even though we were in the digital age, I sure got a lot of junk mail. I sorted through the stuff I could throw away and pulled out two pieces of mail that looked like they were important. The first was from my landlord and included a notice of sale saying that the new owner planned to make a few improvements to the current building and its parking lot. I looked around at the newly paved lot, understanding its presence now. The second was addressed to me and was a form letter stating that construction of the steps would begin on a certain date, and that I would need to arrange alternative accommodations. I checked the date, realizing that was tonight. The letter went on to say my rent would be prorated for those days that I was inconvenienced and unable to get into my apartment.

I skimmed the rest, which was just a lot of fancy lawyer talk. None of which told me what I was supposed to do in the meantime. My gaze caught on the name at the bottom of the letter. A name very familiar to me.

Thomas Bennet.

My hand dropped to my side as I took in the apartment and its brand-new parking lot with a horrified gaze. Everything was owned by Thomas. My sire was my new landlord.